Words
by xxA9m2Y9xx
Summary: "So when he looks back on his memories with her, he isn't inspired to pen the loveliest prose or offer a heart wrenching romance novel. Certain things just stick out to him, single words that are ingrained in his memory that call upon an image of her." For EpiCat's Word of the Day Challenge. Will be multi-chap, but the chapters will be pretty much unrelated.
1. Prologue

For EpiCat's Word of the Day Challenge. This one isn't included in the challenge, I just really wanted to write this as an introduction.

* * *

Words don't come easily to him, that he knows.

Words come flying to her a mile a minute; he knows that as well.

It's difficult for him to sum up his time with her, his feelings for her, or really anything to do with her in words. He can't write beautiful, descriptive paragraphs like she does. He can't begin to capture the passion threaded through everything she composes; even during classes where he wishes he could watch paint dry instead of sit there, there's a light in her eyes as she scribbles countless notes.

So when he looks back on his memories with her, he isn't inspired to pen the loveliest prose or offer a heart wrenching romance novel. Certain things just stick out to him, single words that are ingrained in his memory that call upon an image of her.

Frankly, he prefers it that way – he doesn't want to express himself in journals, proclaiming his everlasting love for her from afar. He wants to experience those moments, look back on them and live in them as they were. He wants Hermione – flawed, bookish, fantastic, beautiful Hermione. He doesn't want to write her, invent some portrayal of her to suit anyone who could come across it.

Yes, he wants her.

* * *

Words come easily to her, that she knows.

Words don't come to him so much, as he doesn't often search for them. She figured that out a while ago; she thinks it's because he doesn't know they'll be waiting for him if he dares to look.

She uses her ability to wield language to make sense of things – to simplify complexity, to understand what is and isn't meant to be understood. Her brain processes information, puts every piece of knowledge it encounters into its place.

But when it comes to him, the whole system collapses.

She isn't capable of putting him into a shiny box that explains the phenomenon of his existence. She can't process the things he does, the way he makes her feel. When they're together, it's something that is exhilarating and confusing and entirely unknowable.

It's just Ron, it's just Hermione, and there's nothing else that can describe it.

So when she thinks of him, all the time she's spent with him, her mind is just a mess of failed attempts to categorize it. She realizes that once a word or feeling has triggered a memory, all that matters is that memory. All that matters is the way it makes her feel, and the way that he continues to make her feel every day that she is lucky enough to be near him.

Yes, she loves to be near him.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope it was enjoyable. I wrote it fairly quickly so I hope I didn't miss anything when I edited. Please review/follow/favorite if you feel at all inclined to do so, and also please read the first chapter which is already up. AHH I'm so excited my first Romione fic. Haha I hope I did them justice. Love y'all.**


	2. Doggerel

Word: Doggerel

As Professor Flitwick passes out their graded essays, Ron notices that the furrow in her brow is deeper than usual. He reacts, of course, the way he usually does when he's concerned about her: he makes fun of her.

"Hermione, you know you'll get the top mark in the class, so what in Merlin's name are you worried about?" She whips around to look at him, glaring.

"What, are you scared that they won't hang it on the wall with a great big banner saying 'the genius work of Hermione Granger' above it?" She narrows her eyes and whips back around with a huff. He smirks. Soon, their essays land with loud _smacks_ in front of them. Ron turns to Harry, and Harry rolls his eyes. They've begun to notice Flitwick's overcompensation for his height and general squeakiness in small ways – handing out empty threats with little provocation, going about louder than necessary.

"You'd think he'd be able to just charm his voice deeper or something. There's a spell for everything, right?" Harry had said during one of their discussions about this in the Gryffindor common room. After Ron pointed out that it would be quite a pain to have to do that to oneself everyday, they got into a full-scale debate over whether it would be the reasonable course of action. Hermione had muttered something that sounded suspiciously like: "Boys…only interested in the painfully uninteresting," before they all went up to bed.

Ron looks at Hermione before he looks at his paper. Her face lights up, and she seems pathetically enthusiastic about the mark. He leans over and studies the page; she's received an O, as usual. He sits back and rolls his eyes, though he still watches her. Sure, she's a fanatic when it comes to grades, but she doesn't usually look on the verge of tears before being assured – as she always would be – of her own brilliance. Ron wants to assure her of her brilliance.

_Shut up._

As Flitwick announces that it is time to move on to their next class, which for three present Gryffindors is a free period, Hermione murmurs something that sounds like '_library'_ and leaves with her books. Ron follows her out of the room. She looks back, quickly realizing what he's doing, and hastens. She is, obviously, no match for his long legs. He is soon walking by her side.

"So, what was that about?" he asks. She keeps her eyes trained directly in front of her.

"Whatever do you mean?" she says. He snorts. As usual, she's resorted to excessively polite language in light of her hiding something.

"I mean," he says, leaning in towards her, "that you looked just about to cry over some stupid mark. Then, when it turned out fine as always, you looked like Christmas had come early. Why all the drama?" Hermione smiles a bit.

"Ronald," he winces a little, "if you paid half as much attention to the class as you did me today you'd be excelling." His freckled cheeks turn red, but he recovers quickly.

"Bloody hell, you'd think that'd be a compliment. You, of course, use it as an excuse to lecture me…" he says. She looks indignant.

"How can you expect me to take anything you say as a compliment when you are constantly berating me for no reason at all?" The look on her face is stubborn, but when Ron looks closely he sees a glint of amusement in her eyes. He knows that she knows that he's an idiot, that he doesn't know how to do anything right. He knows that she knows that he doesn't know how to say he cares so he takes the easy way out and bugs her instead. He knows that she knows…that he won't admit any of that right now, to her, out loud.

"I just…you know…my, um, yeah. It's like how when I, like, do something…I mean…like, um, something…that the thing doesn't er, um…mean."

_What, in the name that all that is holy, was _that?

Hermione simply giggles. Well, that's what Ron _thinks_ she's done, but Hermione doesn't giggle, so he's sure that he's misheard.

"Yes, Ron," she says, "I know." As they turn into the library and settle down in their chairs, he looks at her straight on. He holds her gaze and makes sure that he doesn't let it go this time.

"Just now. Charms. Why."

"Oh, would you just drop it? You don't really care – "

"Never say that I don't care. I always do." He continues staring at her for a moment, but soon her eyebrows raise and then her expression softens into something annoyingly pretty that makes his heart go annoyingly fast. This, naturally, means he's said something he really shouldn't have. He processes what has just escaped his lips (which, in his opinion, ought to be sealed shut) and his cheeks and ears catch fire. He turns away and mumbles, "You know, we're best friends and all." He forces himself to make eye contact again, and he simply asserts, "I care." She smiles and nods. She takes a deep breath.

"Promise you won't laugh, alright?"

"Nope."

"Oh, you insufferable…whatever. So, I had this dream last night. It started off fine: I was in class, and – oh honestly Ronald, what could possibly be so funny already?"

"Only you wouldn't expect tragedy from a dream that started off in class."

"Shall I continue?" she glares at him. He motions for her to continue.

"Please."

"Alright then. So, as I was saying, I was in class. I was confused when all of our professors walked in at once, and I realized that I was the only student. Each professor – even McGonagall! – took their turn trashing my work. They said I was lazy, only pretending to work hard. They said that-that…" to Ron's surprise, tears start to spill over Hermione's eyes. To his immense surprise (and delight), she grabs hold of him for support. He offers it, wrapping his arms around her.

"Go on."

"Th-they said that I was worthless, that I could never amount to anything anywhere, let alone in the wizarding world. They said I didn't belong here." She holds him tighter.

"Hermione, you know…"

"It's not true, I know. But then they started going through every assignment I've handed in as of late, criticizing it so hurtfully. I woke up crying when Flitwick was yelling about how much of an 'abhorrent piece of doggerel' my essay was." She has begun to calm down some, and she draws back from Ron in a rather embarrassed manner, wiping the tears from her eyes. Ron is thoughtful for a moment.

"Okay, first off: You're bloody brilliant. Nothing would change that. McGonagall could ask to have you expelled – " he pauses as he sees Hermione wince. " – _and_ it wouldn't say anything about you. It would just mean that she's finally off her rocker. Secondly, you clearly have nothing to worry about, considering you've always had top marks and I don't even know what words like 'aberrant' and 'doggy-bell' mean." He smiles when he sees her laugh at his butchering of the words. Which was on purpose. Kind of. Yet, him being Ron, he is scared of how well this encounter has been going. And so, he finishes with the lackluster, "So, yeah…I mean, you're…cool." He turns away, blushing. His eyes repeatedly dart back to her. She has that same _damn_ soft, pretty look on her face. He can't take it anymore.

"So, um, I'm going to…find…Hen – Harry! Harry. Him. I'm going to go find…him." He stumbles away, too embarrassed and flustered to look back.

"Ron!" she calls. "You've forgotten your books." She walks over, his bag in hand, and gives it to him. Before he can turn away, she wraps her arms around him again, and though he is surprised and uncomfortable as ever, he hugs her back.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"Anytime," he says, smiling into her hair. They both back away shyly, and he awkwardly steps back. Running a hand through his red hair, he turns away to look for their other best friend. He wonders how she could possibly have been consoled, him being such an inarticulate bumble. But he's glad to have helped. He smiles to himself. He should really look up those words…

* * *

**A/N: Alright, first real chapter. Thanks for reading, especially because it means you actually bothered to continue reading after the prologue. Thanks a lot for that, really. I hope you enjoyed. Please review/follow/favorite if you liked it.**


	3. Troubadour

Word: Troubadour

"AHHHHH!" Ron exclaimed, flopping down onto the couch. The common room was empty, except for Hermione, who had what looked like a small flute in her hands. Hermione was in less than he usually saw her wearing, though that didn't count for much considering she was usually in those frumpy school uniforms. He usually only got to see her in just a tank top and shorts (as she was currently dressed) over the summer when she stayed at the Burrow. He appreciated the change but did his best not to make that obvious – he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. Also, if she did catch him staring or something, he would be pretty uncomfortable himself.

Ron had come down here after being snapped at by Harry about something to do with…oh, he had no bloody idea. He had expected the common room to be empty this late at night, but was pleasantly surprised to find his female best friend occupying the couch where they typically sat.

"Umm…Ron?" said Hermione tentatively. She looked as if she were afraid he might breathe fire all over her if she spoke wrong. Ron wondered if that was a possibility – he was at fire breathing levels of rage at the moment, after all. He sighed.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"Let's not get into that," he said, eyes narrowed. He didn't want to be a prat, but Harry was making it damn hard not to talk about him at the moment.

"Let me guess…Harry's being difficult?" she asked. In response he merely looked at her, eyes almost pleading, and nodded his head vigorously.

"Well," she said, "that's not really anything new. It's a stressful year for all of us." Ron snorted.

"Isn't every year stressful for all of us?" Ron pointed out. Hermione sighed.

"Yes, I suppose that's true. Everything just seems worse now, though, doesn't it?" she mused.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, I feel like we should be used to it by now. I'm definitely not. What's that in your hand, by the way? Is that a flute?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded happily. "I must've written a very angst-filled letter back home, because my parents sent me this in a package. They wrote that I could, perhaps, turn to music for relief from all of the chaos," she laughed. "Hasn't done much good yet, though." Ron smiled.

"I'm willing to try anything. Maybe I'll get mum to send me one. Anyways, I always thought it was sort of fun to be right in the middle of things – to be honest, all of these adventures with Harry kind of make me feel like a hero. Even though everyone knows I'm Harry's sidekick. And you know, with the Burrow being filled to the top with Weasleys I don't always get that much attention…um…Hermione?" Ron seemed to be almost unaware that he was saying all of this out loud until he was brought back to earth by a soft, musical noise. As he looked to his side, he saw that Hermione had begun to play the flute during his rant. This upset him a little, and he chose to deal with it. He could reprimand himself for letting his exhaustion lead him to be so honest later. Because of his awful blushing habit, he found it best to deal with embarrassment in private.

"You know, you can tell a bloke to quiet down instead of just ignoring him," he said, a little bitterly.

"Oh, no!" said Hermione, setting down the instrument next to her and leaning towards him. "I was listening, I swear. I was trying to give you some background music," she explained.

"Um, what?" said Ron, confused as ever. What kind of excuse was that?

"You know, sometimes poems or monologues have music playing in the background. I was playing 'Hot Crossed Buns' in the background to…emphasize your pain," she said, beaming. Ron was still confused.

"Well, why on earth would you do that? I'm not exactly a poet," he said, making her laugh. He reminded himself that he ought not to talk to Hermione at night – it made her go a little bonkers.

"What can I say? You sounded like you needed some accompaniment. I just thought it was funny," she said. "I know it's rare Ronald, but I do try to lighten the mood sometimes…" Ron, missing the humor in her tone and panicking, rushed to try to make things right.

"No, no, of course! I didn't mean, um, I meant that…you, you're – you're…hilarious! That's the word. You make me crack up, really! I'm just stupid, I didn't – "

"I _know_, Ronald," interrupted Hermione gently, touching his arm. He blushed and stared at her hand, which was still (amazingly and terrifyingly) making contact with him. This lasted for about 30 seconds before Hermione realized why he had gotten so tense. She withdrew quickly. He opened his mouth to apologize for being so juvenile but shut it quickly. Instead he simply looked at her, and she looked back.

It had been about a minute or so when he realized that this was probably not normal behavior for friends, staring into each other's eyes and such. However, as another minute passed, he found he didn't particularly care. His mind had just begun to _finally _shut up for the first time all year when Hermione cleared her throat loudly and looked away. He wondered what had caused the abrupt (yet, admittedly, delayed) reaction but remained quiet.

"I should, um, be getting to bed now. I think I'll be able to fall asleep, it's gotten very late," she said, a little curtly. She got up and hastily ascended the stairs to the girls' dorms. He didn't really want to go to sleep yet, and he didn't really want her to go. But there was no way he'd say that, even if she played that ridiculous flute to try and make his words sound beautiful. Everything he said to her just came out clumsily, falling out of his mouth and staying in the air instead of into the trash bin where it belonged. But she listened anyways, and he thought that was kind of fantastic.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! So I wrote the first two in the present tense and I was happy with the result, but oh my god that shit is _hard_. So this is, obviously, written in the standard past tense. I hope the story's relation to the word of the day wasn't too vague; it made sense in my mind, but a lot of things that shouldn't make sense do in my mind...*CREEPY SCI-FI FACE* anyways please review/follow/favorite if you liked it, and also _pretty pretty please_ review if you do one or both of the other two. I want to know what you're thinking. Once again, thanks for reading. I hope this didn't disappoint.**


End file.
